


my heart and all my heart and all my dear (is thine)

by chshrkitten



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Folktales, Alternate Universe - Sovay, Crossdressing, F/M, Fluff, Himbo Garrett Hawke, Humor, Kinda?, Non-Explicit Sex, which is not a tag but i intend to start a trend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chshrkitten/pseuds/chshrkitten
Summary: When runaway nobleman Garrett Hawke gets held up on the way to start a new life with the woman he loves, it’s the worst possible time to be robbed.But despite the situation, he can’t help but notice: that highwayman is exactly his type.
Relationships: Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 5





	my heart and all my heart and all my dear (is thine)

It’s just past midnight when Garrett Hawke sets out to exchange the old life for the new, and the full moon swings high above him in the sky. If he rides steadily, he knows he can make it before morning. The only sounds that accompany him on the journey are his horse’s hoofbeats and the crickets that sing in the trees as he passes; this late at night, the roads are deserted, and Garrett rides alone. 

(He said his last goodbyes earlier the previous day. Carver had joked about being too happy taking over Garrett’s share of the family inheritance to ever miss him, but Garrett had seen him wiping a tear from his eye as they hugged goodbye. Varric had merely clapped him on the shoulder with a similarly watery smile: “I know you and Rivaini know what you’re doing, but take care of yourself, alright? You might be my best friend, but if you drown on the high seas or get yourself sent to prison, I am not putting that in the book.”

Garrett had laughed, and promised them both that he would write-- and visit, once mother had taken time to come to terms with his ‘elopement.’ You’d think, considering how she and her husband had met, that she’d understand that true love can come in unexpected forms, but…. Well. She knew of Garrett’s intentions, and once he left she would believe he was serious in them.)

Now, Garrett smiles as he rides, thinking of the life that lies before him, of the ship docked in the harbor at Aisgill, and the most amazing woman in the world who waits for him there.

(“I know you’ll never be anyone’s wife again, ‘Bela.” He’d said on that day a few months before, in what technically wasn’t a proposal. “And I wouldn’t ask that of you. I don’t need marriage. But when you leave for Antiva this summer…. I wondered if you might want a first mate.”)

He’s jarred from his thoughts by a sudden shout. 

His horse rears, and Garrett leans forward, hugging Dog’s neck and murmuring calming words in the horse’s ear-- quickly though, because he doesn’t want to take his attention off the figure in front of him for very long.

After all, Garrett’s never thought of himself as the cautious and sensible type, but even he knows that when someone pulls a gun on you, you grant them your full attention. 

The full moon shines from behind the stranger, making a silhouette of him as he stands between Garrett and the way forward. That and the wide-brimmed hat he wears low over his brow obscure most of his features, but the metal glint of the gun he holds out before him is undisguised as he points it straight at Garrett’s head. 

_Damn and blast,_ Garrett thinks. This isn’t the first time he’s been held at gunpoint by a stranger in the middle of the night (it’s a long story) and he’s not terribly frightened. Still, this is _absolutely_ going to make him late.

“I don’t want any trouble, my friend--” He begins, holding his open hands out to the sides as clearly as he can without letting go of the reins still bunched in one of them, though Dog seems to have calmed. At this moment he deeply regrets practicing responsible weapons ownership by packing his own pistol separate from its ammunition in his bag.

“Shut up.” The stranger growls, voice low and undeniably masculine, as he steps forward out of the shadows, his own (clearly well-trained) horse standing placidly behind him. The stranger is a small, stocky man, dressed in rough clothes, and he holds his pistol with the confidence of someone who’s used it before. The lower half of his face is hidden by a bandana, and all that’s visible between that and his hat brim is the glint of two dark eyes. “Now, get down off your horse-- quickly, if you don’t want a bullet through your skull.”

Garrett does as he is bid, as quickly as he can while keeping his hands in plain view. When he’s standing, the stranger circles widely around him, his stride slow and confident. Sauntering. He moves like a cat. “I certainly don’t know what a pretty boy like you is doing out alone on the roads at night…”

Garrett opens his mouth to answer--if only to say that he’s not a boy, because for the love of the Maker, he’s thirty-six years old--and then thinks better of it.

“...but I don’t care.” the stranger continues. “Now, if you’ve enough sense to save your own life, take off your coin purse, that gold watch, and anything else of value that you have on your person, and deliver them over to me.”

Garrett does as the robber tells him, not intent on starting a fight. He does try his luck a little when sending over his watch: instead of sliding it across the ground as he had with his purse and his earrings, he tosses it underhand, deliberately about a foot wide to the strange man’s right. But the man’s hand shoots out in a graceful motion Garrett can’t help but admire, and catches the watch one-handed without ever letting the pistol in his other hand waver. He chuckles, warm and low, and for a moment Garrett thinks the man’s laugh sounds familiar, but he doesn’t have time to wonder why before the highwayman is speaking again. 

“Cute.” He says. “But nice try.” He half-bows mockingly, pressing a kiss to the metal surface of the watch before pocketing it. Garrett had _liked_ that watch.

The man looks past Hawke to where Dog stands waiting, munching at a patch of grass at the side of the road and seeming surprisingly unbothered by the whole scene. “I suppose, dear sir, that it would be cruel to deprive you of your horse. Considering the speed at which I saw you riding, you must be in a great hurry, wherever it is you were going”

“I thank you for the consideration, my good man.” Garrett returns, voice steady and with a hint of a laugh to it. The voice that he knows can be charming. “I don’t suppose, as a further act of kindness, that you could return my possessions? And perhaps point that gun somewhere else?”

“Hm.” The stranger hums lazily, tilting the gun so that it points a foot or so farther down, at a more sensitive part of Garrett’s anatomy.

“Nevermind, where you aimed it before was fine.” He says hastily, and is rewarded with another musical laugh.

It’s about then that he realizes this stranger is… oddly compelling. 

Or rather, extremely attractive. 

Which. Well. It’s not surprising. After all, the first time he met Isabela, she’d been holding a dagger to the throat of some miscreant who had crossed her in a tavern. Garrett is well aware that he has a type. He still has enough sense not to act on it in this case (although damn, now that he’d noticed, the stranger’s confident, graceful hands were rather more distracting).

“Anyway,” the stranger is saying, “I think you’ve been holding out on me, pretty boy.”

“What?” Garrett asks, genuinely confused for a minute, before he remembers. Oh. The ring Isabela had given him, that he wears always, must still be clearly visible on its chain around his neck. 

“That diamond ring that I see you wear. Hand it over, lad, and I’ll yet spare you and let you go on your way.” 

Garrett sets his jaw. “No. You’ve taken enough from me, and I won’t give that ring.”

“And why not? Do you value it more than your life?” He demands.

“It’s a token from a woman who is very important to me, and I won’t be parted from it. “ Garrett answers flatly, staring the other man down. “Shoot me and be damned for it, for all I care.” 

“If you should so please.” The man shrugs, and Garrett hears the pistol cock, loud in the quiet night. 

There is a long, long pause.

At last, the highwayman sighs. “Oh, fine. I must be getting soft. Keep your ring, sir. She must be a very special woman.” He pauses. “But I’ll have to take something else in its place.” He walks forward towards Garrett, his strides long and slow and sauntering.

“And what exactly is that?” asks Garrett, who hopes that he knows. “I might be up for it.” 

Garrett wishes he could see that other man’s smile when he says simply: “Hold still now, and close your eyes.” 

And, well. Only a fool would disobey a man with a gun, isn’t that right?

Anyway, he’s already late, and if he’s correctly interpreted the tone in the man’s voice, this might make for a _very_ good story to tell Bela later. It wouldn’t technically be the strangest flirtation he’s had (another long story). 

His suspicions are to some extent correct: the other man’s hand firm and warm on his hip is the only warning he gets before their lips meet. It occurs to Garrett that he could probably wrest the gun away while the man is distracted, but… well. He doesn’t. The kiss is deep and slow, and it's Garrett who moves impulsively to deepen it. The stranger presses against him for a long, lingering moment, before pulling away, his breath still warm and sweet against Garrett’s lips when he speaks: “Safe travels, now.”

Before Garrett can regain enough of his wits to answer, the man has mounted his own horse, and spurs away in the other direction.

And he still has Garrett’s purse.

Oh well. There wasn’t much in there anyway. Garrett shrugs, sighs, returns to Dog, and begins riding again toward Aisgill as the crickets sing in the trees.

***

“Now do you forgive me for being late?” Garrett jokes, resting his cheek on Isabela’s muscled thigh as he looks up at her.

“Oh, sweet thing.” She laughs, raking disheveled waves of dark hair back from her flushed face. “I forgave you at some point during round two.”

“Was it when I did that thing with my tongue you like?”

Isabela puts a finger to her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “You know, I think it might have been.” Her eyes soften as she looks down at him. "I am so glad you’re here with me, Garrett.” 

“As am I.” He says seriously, pressing a kiss to her thigh. He sits back on his heels when she moves to get up; his own passion has already been well-spent. 

She stretches luxuriously, and throws on his undershirt, which at some point during their enthusiastic reunion was tossed up onto the bed. A vision dressed in only that and her boots, she crosses the room, and rummages for something in the pile of her own clothes on the chair. “Hey, Hawke?” she says, turning around.

“Mmhmm?” he answers, having moved to recline on the bed.

“Catch.”

He reaches up automatically, and a small, familiar-feeling metal object hits the dead center of his palm. He brings his hand down to look at it, and sees his own stolen watch, the chain tangled around his fingers.

He looks up at Bela, who shows all her white teeth in a grin, standing with one foot kicked up against the wall. “You’re blushing, sweet thing. I guess I really did fool you.” 

‘I-- what?” He laughs, putting the pieces together. “'Bela, _why_?”

“I wanted to know if you’d keep your head in a crisis or not.” she said, sauntering over with a swing in her hips (now he realizes why the robber’s gait had seemed so familiar). “And… I thought you might appreciate the joke.” 

She straddles him, and his hands move automatically to her hips as he looks up at the woman he loves. “It is a little funny.” He admits, then has to ask: “If this was a test, did I pass?”

“You didn’t give me the ring.” She says, smiling. 

“Which means?” He asks, thumb tracing a circle over her warm brown skin.

She leans down to murmur in his ear, voice soft with affection: “It means you’re a brave fool.” She sighs. “And that I love you very, very much.”

***

_Oh what makes you blush at so silly a thing  
I thought to have had your golden ring  
'Twas I that robbed you all on the plain  
So here's your gold, so here's your gold and your watch again_

_Oh I did intend and it was to know  
If that you were my true love or no  
So now I have a contented mind  
My heart and all my heart and all my dear is thine_

**Author's Note:**

> So my thought process for this was basically: “a Sovay retelling would be cute and i want to write dragon age ii fanfiction… which love interest would be that sexy and unnecessarily dramatic?” and. well. I’ve been meaning to try writing Hawkebela anyway. 
> 
> My all-time favorite version of the song is this one (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBX1osMJ3I0), but I also used these lyrics (http://www.songlyrics.com/martin-carthy/sovay-lyrics/) for inspiration.


End file.
